


There's magic in this misery

by mjonesing (klassmartin)



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Morally Ambiguous Michelle Jones, Sometimes Spiderman is wrong and he needs to face that, Why do I enjoy hurting these two so much, all of the angst, like blink and you miss it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:02:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24912049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klassmartin/pseuds/mjonesing
Summary: He's looking over the side of the roof, babbling about something unimportant the way he always does when he's too hopped up on adrenaline. And she thinks idly for the hundredth time about how cute his ass looks in that suit, which is a stupid thing to think of right now, but it's better than what she's doing.He doesn't see it coming, but then that was always the point.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 18
Kudos: 48
Collections: Spideychelle Week 2020





	There's magic in this misery

**Author's Note:**

> Some of my favourite fan creations from fandoms past involve the darker side to characters and there's just not enough of that in this fandom, so may I present... Spiderman and Dahlia, an unlikely duo who fight crime when she feels like it and clean up her messes when she doesn't. If you want some good songs for the vibe of this, I recommend Deep End by Ruelle and Black Sea by Natasha Blume. Title from My Mistake by Gabrielle Aplin.
> 
> I've been learning about Felicia Hardy and was just inspired. I love a girl who does whatever she wants.
> 
> This is also mildly based around River's relationship with the Doctor in Doctor Who, but if that means nothing to you then don't worry. I just couldn't stop thinking about it.

They meet at the bank, but that's where the normalcy ends.

He slips past the federal authorities with more ease than should really be expected. It's quiet inside, just the whimpers of hostages and the slow pacing of the robbers. There's two more in the safe, but there's no crackle of a radio or whine of an earpiece, so he can probably manage this without any casualties.

Twenty six hostages.

He can do this. Piece of cake, really.

First, the weapons.

The webbing hits both guns just right, blocking the triggers from firing. He tugs both to the side, and the butt of the guns hit them both square between the eyes, knocking one out cold and the disorientating the other.

He slides out of the shadows and fires a web at the closest column, low enough that the guy trips and, as he falls, earns a punch to the side of the head that takes him out of the equation.

His unconscious body falls with a thump, and a hostage screams.

"Shh!" Spiderman says desperately. "Go, get out of here! Quietly!"

He heads to the back of the bank as they hurry out through the front doors, blocking the robber who comes to investigate the noise.

"Oh, it's _you,"_ he says snidely, and Spiderman holds his hands up in protest.

"What's so wrong with me?" The web hits him square in the face and he hooks his foot around the robbers ankle, taking him down. "Other than stopping you from robbing this bank, of course."

With four quick shots he disables each of the guy's limbs and Spiderman waltzes into the vault. The last man standing has two duffels over each arm, and he snarls when he sees the webslinger.

"I don't think that belongs to you."

Clearly, these guys had no idea what they were walking into.

Spiderman jogs out of the bank to the applause of the public, and he ducks his head against the attention as he makes his way to the closest officer.

The officer claps him on the shoulder. "Twenty five hostages safe and sound, all thanks to you."

He looks up in alarm. "Twenty five? Are you sure?"

With confirmation on the number, Spiderman rushes back inside to scout the building, his Spidey drone working on one side while he searches the other.

She slips out of the safe with a silver case in hand, draped and hidden in black, winking as she taps against her ear.

"Package secured, heading for extraction."

"What are you doing?" He asks her, ducking into a defensive position as she clips something metallic to her wrist.

"What do you think I'm doing?" Her voice is velvety and detached and she barely spares him as a glance as she holds her arm up and fires, a rope speeding up into the skylight. "I'm robbing a bank."

He tries to chase after her, but she's disappeared from sight.

***

He lands in front of her in that stupid superhero way; one knee and a fist to the ground, bent over as he looks up slowly, his mechanical eyes narrowed.

Always such a show-off, like she so easily didn't beat him here.

"Do you think it worked? Did we ditch them?"

She shrugs one shoulder. "I suppose. It's a pity, really. I was enjoying myself."

She can't see it but she knows he gives her an exasperated look. When she pulls a face in return he laughs in that breathy way that makes her roll her eyes and then he walks away; back in vigilante mode, always checking for danger.

She was wrong, before: It's _this_ that's a pity.

The early winter's wind tears through the space between them but she can't feel it.

Not now.

He's looking over the side of the roof, babbling about something unimportant the way he always does when he's too hopped up on adrenaline. And she thinks idly for the hundredth time about how cute his ass looks in that suit, which is a stupid thing to think of right now, but it's better than what she's _doing._

He doesn't see it coming, but then that was always the point.

***

He doesn't see her for long enough that he's almost forgotten.

The knife skims past his shoulder and buries itself into the side of his attacker, and when he tracks its path back he sees her smirking from across the dock.

"You're welcome," she says dryly as she fires blindly at the man trying to creep up on her.

She's wearing this black stealth suit that seems too tight to be holding the innumerable array of things she procures from it, but he's a little too busy trying to finish the fight with the cartel to pay much attention.

It's kinda nice, having someone to fight alongside.

By the time he's taken the last one down, there's sirens in the distance and she's adjusting the hood that hides most of her face in shadows. She steps through the hoard of unconscious men until she reaches into one of their jackets, pulling out a phone and a flashdrive.

She goes to leave and he fires a web that knocks her acquisitions out of her hand.

"Who are you?" he asks.

"Who are _you?"_ She saunters closer, trailing a gloved finger over the seam between the suit and the mask. "Who is the boy behind the mask of a man?"

From this close he can see the slant of her nose, the ends of soft curls, the smoky make up concealing her from the cheekbones up. Her dark eyes stare straight through into his very soul.

"I saved your life, spiderling, so now you owe me." She walks backwards, smirking growing. "Guess we'll be seeing each other again, soon."

He _lets_ her leave, he tells himself. He could easily stop her if he wanted to.

***

"What are you doing?"

He hasn't moved an inch since the safety released, so she can't see his face - _she never sees his face_ \- but his voice cracks as he resists the tension trying to stiffen his muscles.

This isn't how she'd wanted to do it, standing over him like an executioner while he's so vulnerable, but he's clever and will take any opportunity to stop her given the chance.

And she won't.

She'd dreamed of firing the bullet into his back as he ran, or maybe twisting his trust in her at the last moment - pretend to go for the bad guy but - Oops! Poor little Spiderman, cut down in battle like a true hero.

This ending doesn't seem fitting enough, but then again, what does it matter? Either way he dies. Either way, his end has finally arrived.

***

She starts to pop up more and more until he finally approaches Fury, figuring she must be an agent.

"Why would I reveal the identities of any potential agents to a boy who's barely out of high school?"

Fury never _technically_ denied it, so he takes it as confirmation.

Weeks slip by and he continues to find the quiet chaos she seems to enjoy leaving in her wake. As much as he tries to resist, knowing that his presence isn't required, he can't help but check.

It's always there.

Always hidden, just for him to find; her calling card.

A single black petal.

***

His hand twitches at his side.

"Don't," she demands, knowing the move before he's even thought of it. His fingers unfurl and she sees his chest move with the size of his exhale.

"What are you doing?" he says again.

"What do you _think_ I'm doing?" she says snarkily, hating the call back, hating how he doesn't sound afraid, hating that he's trying to give her an out.

"You don't have to do this."

She sighs. "No. But I want to."

***

The sixth scene is different; there's a body.

He knows that, realistically, she's probably taken a life before. Wasn't that kind of thing a given when you're a secret agent? He just hasn't seen it yet - her victims usually live, not quite able to walk off the injuries but they'll get there eventually.

He finds the petal in the dead man's hand, and the contents of his stomach curdle.

He stops looking for a while. It no longer feels like a game he wants to play.

Life continues as it did before. College, study, patrol. Over and over. A simple but effective routine.

He goes dark for a week - gets asked to help out with an Avengers mission, and it seems a good a time as any to clear his head.

His first patrol back he sees someone standing on a ledge, and he races across the rooftops until he can reach them - only to find her, walking along like she's on a tightrope. It's the first time he's seen her hair, pulled back securely in two braids that lie over her shoulders.

"You've been ignoring me."

She doesn't turn his way and her stride doesn't break, but she almost sounds sad.

"You killed somebody." He crosses his arms. "I don't tend to look kindly on murder."

She tilts her head to the side. "Are you saying that you've never had to take a life? I find that hard to believe after six years."

He doesn't answer. He can't.

"He was not a good man. The world will continue turning just fine without him."

She pauses her circus act when he steps closer, his footfalls heavy with anger. "That isn't for you to decide! The justice system is there for -"

"The justice system fails! All the time!" There's something hidden in her words that he doesn't understand, but he doesn't get the chance to question it. "You may have chosen to conduct your business a certain way, but I do not have any obligation to follow the path you've forged."

"That doesn't mean I have to be okay with your choices."

"I didn't ask for your opinion." She hops down from the ledge only to take a seat on it, lounging back like she isn't sixty stories high. He waits for her to speak. "Are you really that mad at me?"

"I don't even know you."

"Would you _like_ to know me?"

Oh God - she's _flirting._

Worse still, it's kinda working.

"I don't even know your name."

She tuts. "Why are you so focused on that? A name is nothing. An identifier at most."

"Isn't that all your petals are?" He thinks of the box in his room, hidden away for his eyes only, her gifts for him slowly rotting away.

She presses her lips together like she wants to smile. "You've been thinking about me."

He blushes under the mask. She crosses her ankles and looks up at the absence of stars.

"Dahlia," she whispers to the moon. "You can call me Dahlia."

***

"You want to? I don't believe that."

She resists the urge to roll her eyes again. He's still so _good,_ even after everything.

"Just put the gun down. Let me help you."

"Help me?" she splutters. "I don't want your help. I want your head."

In a second he turns around, and she's about to pull the trigger when he reaches up, tugging that stupid mask off until she can finally see him, and -

Oh.

He's still so _young._

She's known it but never seen it. And it's funny - she'd always pictured his eyes a deep blue, but they're dark like mahogany. And right now, as she drinks them in for the first time, they're not full of fear - just confusion.

He's not scared of her. Even when she's about to end his life.

"You're not going to shoot me," he says quietly.

Her hand shakes. "Do you really want to test that theory?"

***

It's not long after he learns her name that he realises she's not an agent.

The moment comes when he finds her in a destroyed restaurant, dragging a guy's unconscious form through the shattered glass and broken crockery.

"Should I be concerned about this?"

She barely spares him a glance, disappearing through a back door. "No. Continue about your evening, spiderling."

He calls the police and leaves, trying to ignore the sound of a something metallic hitting bone.

"Where's the case?" she demands, her voice too calm but with a fire blazing underneath.

"I don't know, I swear -"

"Where is the damn case?"

He's haunted by the man's scream for the rest of the night.

He'd hoped she was on the side of good - that every mess he has to clean up is because of something bigger than he's allowed to know.

Dahlia has not chosen a side, unless, perhaps, it is her own.

He asks her one night after crashing her latest fight. "Why do you do this?"

"A girl's gotta eat," is all she says, already beginning to walk away, like she's dancing through the air.

"Do you work for someone?" he shouts after her.

And there it is again; that private little smirk, like he's late to the party and missed out on all the best jokes.

No one else seems to be aware of her. She's like a shadow passing through New York that only he can see, and everyone else he questions is blind.

He doesn't mention her to Fury again. He doesn't trust the man not to do something rash, like take her out, or maybe recruit her.

She is _his_ secret, and he intends to keep her that way.

***

He's too attuned to her to miss the minor lapse in control. He drops the mask to the ground and raises his hands - like he's giving in, like he's surrendering to her.

"Who's doing this?"

"Oh, _please,_ I -"

"Someone's controlling you, and I want to know who. I _deserve_ to know who."

Her expression remains steely, steadying the gun with her other hand.

"It's them, isn't it? They got to you."

"Stop."

His palm stretches towards her, but it's too late; she's too far gone. "It's okay. You're in over your head but I can help you, I swear, I know people -"

"Stop talking!" she yells. "God, you never _shut up_ , do you? Even when I'm about to kill you, you can't help yourself!"

"You're not going to kill me." He sounds confident in this and her finger twitches on the trigger. "Please, Dahlia, I just want to -"

"If you say 'help me' one more time, I swear I'll make you suffer."

"Fine," he bites back, "Let me _assist_ you -"

"You really don't get it, do you? It's because of your 'assistance' that we're here right now!"

***

He swings into the scene seconds too late, and he leaves with her pressed against his side.

She groans as he jostles her and she starts becoming heavier, and he can't help starting to panic - even through the suit he can feel the blood pooling and he takes the quickest route to the hospital, desperation clawing up his throat.

No!" She grips his neck a little tighter. "No hospitals. I'll be okay."

"You got stabbed, Dahlia. You need a doctor."

"No, I don't. I've got you."

He almost forgets to fire his next web, he's so surprised. "I'm not a doctor. I can't fix this."

"I'll walk you through it. Just… No hospitals."

He lets her direct him to a safe house and he tumbles through the window, displaced by her increasing weight. There's a musty smelling bed in the corner and he lies her on it, patting her gently on the cheeks to rouse her. "You with me?"

"Huh?" Her eyes are bleary but she shakes her head, pointing across the room. "Second drawer. Bring it all."

He can't bear to leave her side so he fires a web to pull the whole drawer flying across the empty room. She seems to find some humour in this, a chuckle wheezing through her chest. He grabs the first aid kit and begins pulling out everything she needs, and she rolls over onto her good side to reach under the bed.

When she straightens back out, there's a bottle of vodka in her hand.

"It's fine, you've got enough here for me to sterilise the wound." He pulls off the rush-job bandage he'd muddled together at the scene to get a better look at her wound.

"It's not for that, it's for me." She untwists the cap with her thumb and takes an extended gulp. "This is the only thing I've got for the pain."

He watches the blood begin to seep into the bed beneath her.

"It's fine, just stitch me up. If it had hit anything important I'd be dead already." She's so blasé about it even when she's so clearly in pain, holding the neck of the bottle tight enough it might shatter.

"You know that'll just make it worse, right?"

She snorts and takes another drag. "I just got stabbed, clearly I'm not making good decisions today."

"Speaking of," he says as he begins to clean her up. "Why were you even there in the first place?"

She hisses as he wipes over the wound. "What, you think now you can see inside my body that I'm gonna open up?"

"No, but I do know that we're now even." When she frowns, he amends, "You saved my life, now I'm saving yours."

She leans back against the pillow, her free hand gripping the sheet until her knuckles threaten to break through the skin. "Please. This isn't 'saving' my life. It's barely a scratch."

He picks up the needle and starts to thread it. "I'll make sure to add 'delirious' to your list of symptoms."

She does that wheezy laugh but it stops abruptly in a silent scream as he begins to close her up.

"Fair warning, this is not going to be pretty." His tongue pokes out as he concentrates. "You're gonna have one ugly scar."

She speaks through gritted teeth. "I thought you'd be pretty good at this by now. Surely you've got your own collection of scars."

"Nope." He glances up from his work at her waist to see her watching him. "Fast healer."

"Son of a _bitch._ "

"Sorry, sorry, I'm nearly done."

"No." She tips the bottle back for another drink. "I meant… Next time I'm letting you take more of the hits."

He arches an eyebrow. "There's gonna be a next time?"

"Face it, spiderling. You can't resist me."

***

"What are you talking about? I haven't done anything!"

"Yes, you have." Her chin trembles. The gun lowers a fraction. "The day we met. The day you ruined my life."

He looks so confused, his mind whirling. It's almost cute.

"I don't… The bank? How did I -"

A scream of frustration tries to pounce from her chest but she supresses it. "No! Before that!"

"What are you saying? We… Are you saying we met before? I don't -"

"Look at me," she begs. "Really look at me. _Remember_ me."

***

"Come with me if you want to live."

He chokes on his diet coke, looking up from his midnight snack to see her looming over him with her hand extended. "Dahlia? Are you okay?"

She snorts. "I always wanted to say that. But seriously, we gotta go or you're gonna die."

It's the first time he's seen her in over a month; since he stitched her up and watched her toss and turn through the night, needing to make sure she wasn't about to die on him; until the dawn came, when the sun brings a new level of danger.

He slipped out of the window, and when he returned with the night, the only sign of her was the blood stains on the sheets.

"What's going on?" He pulls himself up and approaches her. She huffs out a breath and grabs his wrist, dragging him behind her.

"I heard rumours of a group trying to catch the spider," she explains as she has him break the lock for the roof door, heading quickly down the stairs. "I'm surprised it took this long, honestly."

"Do you know who?"

"Yes." They reach the bottom of the stairwell and she picks up a duffel bag hidden behind a plant. She pushes him into the elevator marked 'out of order' and closes the doors, throwing the bag into his arms. "You pissed off the wrong people a while back, and now they're ready for revenge."

He looks down. Through the open zipper, he can see a heap of clothing. When he goes to ask her about it, she's stripping out of her stealth suit.

"Woah!" He turns around quickly. "What are you doing?"

"You can't be _you_ right now, and this outfit doesn't really make you blend in." He hears something unzipping and he flushes. "Come on, get dressed!"

"I'm not - I can't take off the mask."

"I'm not looking," she says in exasperation, then, "Unless you want me to."

His breath lodges in his throat and his blush blooms even harder.

"Time is not a luxury you have right now, so get a move on!"

He dives into the bag and pulls out some non-descript, dark toned clothing, pulling the jeans on over his suit. Next is a shirt and a jacket, and when he glances behind him she's facing the other way, pulling on a leather jacket and tugging the tie out of her hair. She shakes out her curls and for a moment is mesmerises him.

No. Not the time.

He whips off the mask and puts on the baseball cap, pulling it as far down as he can. There's some glasses in there too that he eagerly grabs - tinted but not quite dark enough for sunglasses, which is helpful considering the late hour outside.

She grabs the bag from his feet and stuffs her suit inside, and then tucks all of that into a little backpack he hadn't even noticed that she's got ready on her shoulders. When he looks down at himself and then at her, he realises they look perfectly like tourists.

"I know, I look great," she says dismissively, "Talk about it another time."

She opens the doors and peeks both ways before ushering him out, and they slip out of the building and into the steady stream of people still exploring the city.

"What's the plan?" he mumbles, brain overthinking how to walk the streets he's called home his entire life without looking suspicious. This should be easy, but he's never really in much danger in plain-clothes, and the level of unknown about this whole thing is gnawing at his gut.

"Could you try looking a little less constipated?" She slips her hand into his, her grip tight. "I can't believe you didn't take the suit off. You look like an idiot, wearing gloves in the middle of July."

"I wanted to be ready!" She pulls him down into the subway. "Seriously, Dahlia -"

"Don't call me that, idiot."

"What am I supposed to call you?"

He can hear the eye roll in her voice, scanning two metrocards to get them onto the platform. "I don't know… Mary-Jane?"

"Okay, _Mary-Jane_ … You need to start giving me some information other than little pieces of nothing, because I'm kinda freaking out over here. I mean, should I be worried? Do they know who I am? I have people that I care about that -"

"Chill, it's not quite that serious yet." The train approaches and she finally turns to look at him. She looks strange without the paint covering her face- like her but not at all - and she leans in closer as people begin to crowd them. "I'm getting you out of the city. You lay low for a bit and I'll deal with it."

"Deal with it how?"

But she's pulling him onto the train, pressed flush against him in the busy carriage, and she doesn't say another word until she puts him in a sleek black car, thrusting a crumpled piece of paper towards him.

"I'll call you when it's safe," she promises, "But if you need help… Call me on that number."

***

He looks at her for a long time, but it doesn't seem to click. Perhaps, if she had a heart, this would break it.

"I'm sorry, Dahlia."

"That's not my name." She runs a hand through her hair and he bites his lip. "I guess that's all we are to you, in the end. Forgotten memories, too many people floating by to bother remembering them."

He opens his mouth but doesn't speak, but she can see the things he wants to say swirling around his head: _"Please forgive me," "Tell me what I'm supposed to remember, "I don't know how to fix this."_

"I suppose it doesn't matter, anymore. This is only delaying the inevitable."

He sniffs, his mahogany eyes wet. "Why are you doing this?"

"I told you: Because I want to. Because I _can_."

He shakes him head. "No, this isn't you. They have to forcing you somehow - there has to be a reason -"

"Why does there have to be a reason?" she asks in disbelief.

"Because this isn't you! I _know_ you, and you're not this person!"

She almost believes him, he sounds so sure, but then his face drops and she swallows the sudden lump in her throat.

"Unless you are. Maybe this is exactly who you are." He twitches like he wants to start pacing, no longer looking at her but through her. "You warned me. You told me and… I just brushed it off because you'd saved me and… And you didn't. Not really. It was just a trick, wasn't it?"

"No, I… I tried, I _swear_ -"

"This whole time. Everything we did… Every second together. It was all a lie."

***

He spends two days in the crappy apartment the car had driven him to, with nothing to do but worry and wait.

On the second night she calls. "It's done," is all she says.

He tugs the suit on and swings back into the city, straight to the only place he thinks she might be. There in the dark, she sits curled into the corner, her eyes haunted, her hands stained red.

"What happened?" he demands as he examines her bruises.

"I... I sorted it," she says, her voice hollow.

"Hey, look at me." He cups her cheek with his hand. "Are you okay?"

"I did things," she whispers, her hands beginning to shake against his shoulders. "I did things and you won't like them and -"

"It's okay," he says, forgiving her without question. "I know who you are."

She looks up from his chest. "You do?"

"Of course. You just saved my life, again."

"Oh…" She sighs, her breath wafting over his covered chin. "You make this so difficult."

He doesn't understand, but she closes her eyes and presses her forehead to his.

"You trust too easily, my spiderling."

And then she holds his face and kisses him.

It's a fraction of a moment, but he realises this is what he's ached for - secretly, stuffed far down inside - and when she pulls away she slides her hands down to the seam and tucks her fingers inside. When he nods, she eases it up to his nose, and this time when she kisses him, he can feel the split lip cutting through the softness.

He kisses her desperately, like she's the last of the oxygen in the world.

One kiss turns to two turns to three turns to endless. Hands grope and mouths travel and when she strips him of the suit, she runs a hand over the last of his face covered by the mask.

"It's okay," she says, and it's the only words she says for the whole exchange. "Keep it on."

He presses her chest against the wall and pushes inside of her and they find a little bit of euphoria amongst the broken pieces of their world.

***

"Was it all a lie?"

"No," she chokes, because she can't bear to lie when he's looking at her like this - it's so much harder now she knows his true face, and she has to look away before it destroys her. "I really was going to save you, but then -"

"Then what? You thought once you'd fucked me one way you might as well do it the other?"

His coarse language makes her jolt in surprise. This kind of anger... It's not him. It's not the boy she's come to know. He's sad and soft and an unmovable force - until now. Until she chose to wreck all they'd built.

"No!" A tear slips down her cheek and she wipes it furiously away. "People got wind of our… Arrangement. They thought they could expose it as a weakness."

He gestures wildly at the gun still aimed at his chest. "How does that end with you pointing a gun at me?"

"You just couldn't help yourself! You kept digging! And now it's _this_ … Or me. One of us has to die."

"…You? Why you?"

She shakes her head, taking a deep breath to try and re-centre herself, to detach herself once more. "I figure one of these in the brain… How can you come back from that, right?"

"Why you?! Why the ultimatum?"

"I stopped doing my job." The truth rips past her lips as a sob echoes around her chest. "I swore to them that I could do it and then… And then I got to know you and you're so _good,_ like you're not tainted by the world we live in. And… I couldn't be mad at you anymore."

The tears fall freely now, as his do.

"Five years ago, the Crisanto family."

She sees the moment it hits him, all colour leaving his face.

"No. No, _no,_ I - That wasn't -"

"You saved the wrong people, and I lost everything because of it."

***

The call appears in the corner of his vision, and he ducks out of his conversation with some tourists to answer.

The first thing he hears is her laboured breathing, then the pounding of her feet as she runs.

"Alley off 5th!" she orders before the line goes dead, and _damnit,_ he's on the other side of Queens.

He swings with everything's he got, and as he lands on the closest rooftop, he hears her voice floating out of the alley. When he looks, she's facing three large men, their knives held towards her in a way that makes him queasy.

She glances up and spots him, her lips quirking up knowingly.

"That's my ride, fellas. Sorry to cut this short." She extends her arm towards the sky and he wraps a web securely around her wrist, pulling her to safety as she blows a kiss to her would-be attackers.

"Perfect timing, spiderling." She flashes him that dangerous smile and loops an arm around his neck. "Think you can get to Manhattan in time for my dinner reservation?"

He huffs, still a little out of breath from getting here. "I'm not a taxi service, you know. I can't always be around to save you."

"Yes," she croons, trailing a hand down his chest, "But you haven't failed me yet, my spiderling."

He's about to argue when he hears three heavy footfalls ascending the stairs.

So he wraps his arm around her and off they go.

When he reaches Manhattan, she presses a kiss to his cheek and upzips her suit, revealing an emerald green cocktail dress that clings to her figure. "I shouldn't be too long, if you want to wait around. After this I've got the rest of the night off."

The insinuation is laced heavily through her words and when she presses herself firmly against him, whispering filthy things into his ear, he knows he'll end up in her bed once more.

He can't help it. She's become a dark obsession that's taken over every thought; every impulse.

And he knows, deep down, that there's something wrong about this - the pieces don't quite fit, and the one she's hiding is a gaping hole in the middle - but every time he finds herself a little further under her spell.

And sure enough, she returns to his side just a half hour later, and he peels that dress from her skin and loses himself in her for another night.

***

"On the scanner, they'd said a girl called and -"

"They stole me. It was the first chance I'd had to escape in four years and then you turned up -"

"You were under the table. I found you but they said…" He reaches for her and she flinches away. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know."

She shrugs it off. Apologies mean nothing, in the end. "Not then, but you figured it out."

He looks up to the sky, the storm clouds brewing on the horizon. "They kept popping up, more and more as the crime level increased."

"And then you started getting in the way. That's how you got on their radar." She wipes at the stains on her cheeks. "So they sent me."

"But if you were out, why didn't you run?"

She's already shaking her head, tapping the chip in her neck. "These aren't people you run from. There _is_ no running. But they offered me a deal; freedom for you."

He looks at her like he's truly broken.

"They turned you into this."

"They'd already torn me down... They just had to built me up in the way they wanted. They tried to smother my emotions. They taught me to act; not feel. Someone as damaged as that…"

She meets his eye helplessly.

"Who else was I going to fall for?"

***

His routine adapts: College, study, patrol, _her._

It stops just being physical. They begin to talk.

He whispers into the dark about the tragedies that scar his life. She tells him of her dreams for the future; a peaceful, boring existence. Maybe work in a book store, making bread and maybe her own wine. Somewhere far away from the city, where the demons can't find her.

He starts to think it too, just before the sunrise paints the room in shades of orange and pink, when she's fallen asleep in his arms and he's resisting the urge to join her.

***

He releases an unsteady breath, something settling over him - his shoulders drop and his brow relaxes and his eyes flutter.

"They won't stop," he whispers. She nods. "You know too much."

"I know. But by then I won't have anything left to lose."

She tightens her grip around the gun. This is it. This is the end of it all.

"It's okay," he says when a whimper escapes her. "I forgive you."

_"No."_

"I forgive you," he says again, fiercely so she might believe him. "Always and completely."

"I'm so sorry," she cries anyway.

He nods, mouths, 'It'll be okay.'

She aims for his forehead. "Any last words?"

"A request, if that's okay." She nods. "Let me put the mask on. I don't want you to have to see -"

"Okay."

He slips the mask over his head and reaches out a trembling hand. She grabs it with her free hand; she owes him so much, she can give him this. An easy death, instead of the alternative. 

"I'm sorry."

"Me too."

"Goodbye, Spiderman."

"Go -"

***

"Does it ever scare you? How damaged we are?"

"No. My Aunt always says, 'even when a star dies, it is still beautiful.' And I think anyone is capable of healing, given the chance."

"Even someone like me?"

"Especially someone like you. Just give me the chance to show you."

***

When she opens her eyes, she's screaming.

The room is bright and white and sterile, and there's things poking into her skin and a horrible beeping, and hands holding onto her as she tries to move, and -

Two mahogany eyes stare down at her.

A hand strokes over one side of her face as a muffled voice tries to soothe her.

"Spiderling?" she asks, and his eyes smile at her.

"Give it a minute," his angelic voice says. "The disorientation will pass."

"I don't… What happened? Where am I?"

She remembers the gun against his head, her finger on the trigger.

She grabs any part of him she can. "Why are you… You're _here._ I don't - Why are you here?"

"Easy, easy." He wipes the tears she didn't know she had cried. "Everything is okay, but you gotta calm down for me. Deep breaths."

She tries to copy what he demonstrates, the air tasting funny as it comes through tubing in her nose.

"That's it, you're doing great." When the beeping calms he gently takes her hands in his, his eyes still smiling even as his mouth twists. "I know it's four years late, but I did it right this time. I saved the right person."

She frowns. "I-I-I don't understand."

He leans out of her line of sight but quickly reappears, holding up a crumpled piece of red fabric. "When you first pointed the gun at me, the suit called for back up. I just had to keep you talking until they were all in position."

"You… You tricked me?"

"The suit fed a live feed to someone I trust implicitly, and I knew there was something bigger at play, so once you confessed he got to work." He flashes a crooked smile. "I choose my friends very carefully."

"You recorded everything?"

"It's okay, he's the only one who saw it. We'll need your testimony later, I imagine, but no one else needs to know what happened on that roof." He squeezes her hand, pulling it to his chest. "We got them all, Dahlia. Every single one of them that ever hurt you… They're going to rot for what they've done. I'm seeing to it personally."

She tries to sit up, her brain spinning with the residual grogginess and the information he's just thrown at her. She reaches up instinctively and is met by a thick lump of bandage.

"Sorry, you banged your head pretty hard on the way down. The team needed to remove the immediate threat so they shot you with a tranq dart, which is why you feel so shit right now."

"So… It's over?" She can't bear to meet his eye, can't bear to hope. She's got a lifetime of proof that it does no good. "Are you sure? This isn't another trick?"

"No. I'm sorry for deceiving you, but that was my last lie; this is very real. The whole operation has been taken down." He grins. "You're a free woman."

She touches her neck, feels the gauze where her chip used to be.

She gasps. She sobs. She shakes her head, over and over.

She doesn't know what to call the feelings that are coursing through her. She just knows it's warm and tingly and a little nauseating and the most beautiful colours of the rainbow.

_She's free._

Her spiderling had finally saved her, despite everything she'd done to him.

"You saved me. Why did you save me?" She clings to his arms again, eyes darting around as she tries to put the thoughts together. "I was going to kill you and -"

"I couldn’t let you go, not without saying it back."

Oh.

_Oh._

"Yeah. Sorry, but…" His whole body smiles now, and her mouth responds in kind.

"Are you sure?"

"I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life."

And then he kisses her, feather soft and full of something that makes the giddy feeling in her gut a hundred times stronger. She throws her arms around his neck and kisses him more insistently, and he laughs against her lips, so happy he can barely respond to her lips, their noses bumping but it's _perfect._

Perfect and completely them.

When he pulls away, nodding his head towards the monitor beeping like crazy once more, she fights to keep him as close as she can - a very short fight because he doesn't seem in any rush to be away from her.

"So, what happens now?"

"Now, you heal." He kisses each of her knuckles. "I know some good people who can help; maybe even hook you up with a new job, if that's something you're interested in down the line."

She purses her lips. "You really think I can heal, after all this?"

"Yes," he says sincerely, "I think you just need a second chance. Just like I promised you."

She kisses him again, just because she can, because his words are too sweet for her right now but one day soon, she thinks, she might be able to believe it too.

He laughs again. "Dahlia -"

"That's not my name." She licks her lips and he strokes his thumb over her cheek. "It's… Michelle. Michelle Jones."

"Nice to meet you, Michelle Jones. I'm Peter Parker, and I think I'm in love with you."

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought! I was very torn over how to end this honestly, it almost just finished at the “goodbye Spider-Man” but also I felt like I needed to wrap some more threads up so idk, tell me what you’d have preferred. This one was pretty special to me and I'm kinda nervous releasing it into the world so I'm dying to know what you guys made of it.
> 
> mjonesing on Tumblr as always


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